


Friction

by cassiopea (nina_monk)



Series: Twice the Man I Used to Be [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Brian Banner's A+ Parenting, Chubby Bruce, Chubby!Bruce - Freeform, Eating Disorders, Fat Shaming, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Triggers, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_monk/pseuds/cassiopea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early days of his and Tony's relationship, Bruce thought he had a handle on his food triggers. He was very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stenosing tenosynovitis

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to everyone for taking so long in updating, but there were some important reasons why (mostly very personal ones). This is the first of four chapters, in the most difficult section of this entire series - difficult for me, because there were more than a few personal, triggery things on my end, and wading through those emotions took some time.
> 
> Still, if you've been reading so far, you know my trigger warning tags aren't for show. Heed them - especially for this part of "Twice the Man." Again, if you have any food related issues at all, this part of the series could be extremely triggering for you. So be mindful.
> 
> And as always, thank you for continuing to read this series, and a super thanks to my (ever patient) beta, Lia.
> 
> ***  
> Bruce and Tony both uncover how deeply destructive Bruce's food issues can be.
> 
>  **Ht:** 170.25 cm  
>  **CW:** 89.81 kg  
>  **Days in Stark Tower:** 240
> 
>  
> 
> _Occurs two months prior to "Inertia"_

"How the hell did I get roped into this..."

Bruce nibbled his thumbnail as his eyes skimmed Stark Tower’s lecture hall, while the faces of the scientific elite stared back at him, looking as stern as he expected. He supposed he could be grateful for one thing, that the event wasn't somewhere else in the city (because that would have been far worse). Still. Standing in a room with hundreds of people judging him was a painful reminder of all his social anxieties.

"It'll be fun," Tony had said, weeks ago. "Seriously, man. You're one of the foremost authorities on cosmic radiation, what with the Battle of Manhattan and all. You owe it to the scientific community."

"I _owe_ it to them?" Bruce repeated, voice rising. "Tony, in case you haven't noticed, half the scientific community wants to dissect me, and the other half wants to keep me as their personal zoo exhibit! And you want me to present to those people? Are you _crazy_?"

Tony draped an arm over Bruce’s back, and Bruce found himself unconsciously leaning into the warmth. They hadn't been sleeping together for very long, but Tony figured out pretty damn quickly that the quickest way to calm him was with an intimate, casual touch.

 _Manipulative bastard_ , Bruce thought darkly, but he’d be lying if he said he didn't like it.

"Bruce, you won't be by yourself. I told you that already." Bruce grunted, and Tony lightly massaged his boyfriend’s neck. "Dr. Foster, your old pal Selvig - they'll be there, too. Plus a few other distinguished doctors who wrote scientific papers and projected theories about the Chitauri and their consequences on the rest of the world.

“Compare notes with academia, Bruce. Talk nerdy to them. It'll be good for you. And you'd be surprised at what scientists get riled over these days. Right now, they're too excited about space aliens to worry about domestic threats. Hulk's old news, Banner. Write a few self-insertion scientific journal papers, and I guarantee they'll leave you be."

And God help him, the more Tony talked it up, the more it piqued his interest. He absolutely missed collaborating with other scientific groups, and Tony knew it. As much as he shrank from public contact, it was good to feel... well, _academic_ for a while. He refused sign on as a panelist, though. He could moderate the lecture and manage the flow, and he could conduct the post-lecture, Q  & A session. Other than that? No. Hell no. If he was very lucky, he could be both involved, and ignored.

But none of his bravado would mean squat, if he couldn’t get through the damn opening remarks first.

Bruce nervously tapped the mic, took his hand from his mouth and cleared his throat, and immediately the dull roar of the lecture hall quieted. He swallowed. True, it wasn't ridiculously crowded, maybe as many people as there would be in a smallish TED talk, but only the cream of the crop had received invitations. So how the hell had he become as important as the top echelons of the scientific community?

 _It's because you're a goddamn oddity_ , his mind spat. _A thing. A beast who makes play he's still a man._ Bruce winced, hearing Loki’s barbed words repeated in his subconscious after all these months. The so-called trickster god knew exactly where to aim to do the most damage; Bruce had to give him that.

He sighed and rifled through his notecards, and pushed through his feelings of inadequacy. Tony trusted him enough to lead the series, and these people didn’t come to hear a scientist harp on his insecurities.

Bruce hands only shook a little when he opened his mouth to speak, but even he was surprised when calm, articulate words flowed from his lips. He hoped the calm feeling would last, and that the later discussions wouldn't bury him.

***

A break for lunch afforded Bruce more time to speak with smaller groups of his fellow scientists. Gradually his anxiety melted, and he fell into a careful rhythm with his peers. Brief reminders of what he loved about teaching and collaborating put him more at ease, and he found it easier to talk, even joke, with the other scientists. And not one of them, to his complete relief, mentioned anything about the Avengers or (God forbid) the Hulk.

Tony was right; they were more interested in outer space than his inner space.

Bruce was wrapping up his conversation with Dr. Richards when Erik Selvig’s thick hand clasped his shoulder, startling him slightly. "Bruce!" Selvig's smile was warm but still a little haunted, which pained Bruce some. Loki had done a royal mindfuck to the older scientist, and although Selvig had made strides over the months, Loki’s lingering effects had deepened the lines around his eyes and mouth.

He had no room to talk, though.

"Erik, hey. We haven't had much time to talk during the conference."

"I know. But what a day, eh?" His eyes roamed over the remaining stragglers in the lecture hall. "It's like old home week. And everyone here enhances the illusion that nothing's changed."

Bruce swallowed lightly, knowing what he meant. He shifted his weight to the other foot and changed the subject. "So where's Dr. Foster? I thought she was going to join us for the luncheon." 

"Oh, she ran off with one of her colleagues. Something new, I suppose, in the area of intergalactic telecommunications. She has it in her head that a particular principle of an Einstein-Rosen bridge could allow for an intergalactic telecom network. Imagine, contacting Asgard by cell phone. Hell, imagine the _rates_. It’s a little crazy, if you ask me." Selvig gestured to his head and made a circular motion with his finger. "Cuckoo."

Bruce ran a nervous hand behind his neck. "Er...yeah. Anyway, the conference will start back up in thirty minutes, and we should grab a bite while we can. Tony made the lunch buffet style, and it's all from the ridiculously good Tower food court chefs. Or, if you want, we can hoof it a few blocks. My favorite Asian place isn't far."

Selvig chuckled and ruffled Bruce's hair, which put him on edge. Bruce had never known Selvig to be so touchy-feely. 

"Hah! It’s evident this Tower life agrees with you, Dr. Banner."

"Really, how so?" Bruce checked his watch. They needed to get moving, but now he wondered if having lunch with Erik was such a hot idea. Selvig’s breakdown had turned the scientist’s mind into a scratched record, skipping and bouncing out of sync.

"You used to be a spindly wisp," Erik joked. Bruce stiffened as Erik pinched his side and tugged. "You've really fattened up since I last saw you."

The blood drained from Bruce’s face, and he fought a shiver. "Um. Thanks--?"

"I'd say you've probably added a good forty to fifty pounds. All that rich food, eh?” Selvig chucked and gave his own growing paunch a careful pat. “Ah, well. The older we get, the harder it is to lose it. But it suits you, Bruce. Sure, maybe you could stand to tone up a little, but no matter, I’ve heard fatties are in this year." 

Bruce said nothing. 

"Ah! We don't have much time.” Selvig slapped Bruce's shoulder and gestured to the door. "Let's descend on that buffet and hurry back. If we have time, I'd enjoy picking your brain on some of the newer gamma par--"

"Erik," Bruce finally spoke. His voice shook, but not too much, and he thought he controlled it well. "I just...I thought of something I have to do." He backpedaled and headed for the other end of the hall. "I need to send off my project notes for tomorrow's R&D meeting. It won't take too long, but I'll have to take a raincheck on lunch. I'll be back to moderate. I don't want to keep you."

Selvig's face fell a little. "Oh, that's too bad. Well. We can still talk after the conference, or during the second Q&A."

"Absolutely."

"Good. Until then. I'm starving."

"Eighth floor," Bruce said calmly. "The luncheon is on the eighth floor."

Erik gave him a little nod and a wave, and Bruce waited until he was out of sight. Brian Banner’s hatred slammed into Bruce like a heavy gut punch, and he could feel his mind shift, ever so slightly, unraveling, derailing. Falling. He paced. The change shrouded his mind and woke his alter, who shifted angrily, but Bruce ignored Him.

His stomach growled, but Bruce ignored that, too.

_People were noticing._

By proxy he...

Therefore--

He rubbed a shaky hand over his brow. Words tumbled in his mind, churning and filling the vacuum where his confidence fled: _Weak. Worthless. Disgusting. Twisted. Depraved. Evil. **Fat.** Must lose. Immediately._

**Now.**

Bruce stumbled into his apartment but got it together in time to moderate the remaining seminar. He wasn't sure how he got through, but he excelled at putting up false fronts. He'd been doing so for years, after all.

He only had to avoid the world.

***

Tony considered going to the conference to support Bruce, but truthfully, it wouldn't have been the best idea. Bruce needed people who’d respect him for his own accomplishments, with people who neither saw him as a machine nor a monster. Bruce would've assumed Tony’s presence meant he hadn't come by his praise honestly, or maybe that Tony would've paid folks off to say whatever to make him feel better. Which was bullshit. But Bruce had anxiety issues beneath self-esteem issues beneath self-loathing wrapped up in a scratchy wool blanket of despair. So sometimes, Tony figured, Bruce could benefit from a few others singing his praises, so he'd know he was more well-liked than he realized.

"Hey, J. Where's Banner right now?" Tony grunted and made a face at the chassis of his Tesla Roadster. He wasn't a huge fan of the latest model in the series, not really, but the design was pretty damn cherry. _Modifying these electrics for arc reactor tech_ , he thought with a grin, _is hella sweet._ It would take a few days to retrofit the vehicle, and since Bruce was busy with the conference, Tony figured now was as good a time as any to amp it.

"Dr. Banner is currently ensconced in one of the second floor labs. Shall I page him for you, sir?"

Tony frowned. "Huh. No, no worries, J. I'll root him out. What time did the conference end, anyway?"

"Three hours ago, sir."

Tony snorted. Well, he always did lose time when he tinkered with his machines. The garage in the Tower wasn't as big as the trashed one in Malibu, but he still lost track of time as easily in this one. "Guess I should go check on him. Maybe we can go grab a bite or something, and he can talk my ear off on who said what to whom in which galaxy."

"Sounds intriguing, sir."

"Doesn't it just," Tony snarked. "Time to get my geek on."

By which he meant, of course, Bruce; he was really looking forward to getting that geek literally _on_ him.

He grabbed a quick shower, changed his clothes, and headed down to the second floor. Tony wasn't that anxious, but he had his concerns; Bruce should've interrupted him by now, should’ve been gushing over the latest scientific advance or at least ducking his head sheepishly and acknowledging that the conference wasn't all bad. So something was up. Maybe Bruce had a negative experience and felt shy talking about it.

Tony rifled through the newer restaurants in his head in case Bruce needed cheering up. He’d heard of some new Indian place on 7th, and it supposedly doubled as a bar for the late-night patrons; surely he could convince Bruce to try it. 

He stepped off the elevator with a small sigh. Although the Tower was open 6am-8pm for most, only specific badge owners were allowed after 8pm. A while back, Pepper worked with HR to force mandatory break protocols, so the science teams wouldn't keel over from exhaustion or, worse, cause an accident. Not that he was very good at following the protocol without prompting, himself, but that’s why he had Pepper, and subsequently, Bruce. Speaking of--

"Bruuuuce," Tony called, when he entered the lab. It wasn't like anyone would be in there except Bruce at this hour. "You don't write, you don't call...makes a guy think you're purposely ignoring him."

Bruce briefly glanced over before returning his attention to a group of displays. "Sorry. I got involved with a few things and forgot the time."

Tony slung his arm around Bruce's shoulder, but Bruce tensed beneath his arm. _Hm._ "What're you looking up?"

"What--? Oh, just looking up my current and past physical data. No big deal." He smiled, but his grin was off.

A frown tugged at Tony’s lips. "Anything wrong?"

"No, not really. Nothing unexpected, I suppose. But, hey, you were right about the conference. It was exactly what I needed. I'm glad you convinced me to go."

"See?" Tony grinned and wrapped his arms around Bruce's middle, even as Bruce awkwardly shifted his feet. "Told you it wouldn't be so bad."

"Mmm," Bruce said. He casually broke away from Tony's arms to glance at some data. Tony didn't like it - it felt like Bruce pulling away from him - but he accepted it. Neither one of them were especially tactful when involved at work.

"I'll be working late, though. A few things at the conference sparked my interest, and I wanted to get my thoughts out before heading for bed. So don't wait up."

Tony pouted. "Damn, I was hoping we could go for a late dinner some place."

Bruce threw that same, unsettling grin over his shoulder. "Raincheck?"

"Yeah, okay. Raincheck." He sniffed and snaked his arms around Bruce - or tried to. Bruce again slipped from his grasp, to check readings on a tablet.

"Bruce," Tony said, exasperated. "C'mon, man. Stand still for a second."

"Tony, later. I'm busy right now, okay? Just..." He sighed, and adjusted his glasses. "We can go without for one night. It's not like we're horny teenagers anymore."

And that quip just made him mad. "I know we're not teenagers," he ground out. "But I...never mind." He gave Bruce a flippant little wave and headed for the door. "Just forget it. If you feel like doing something later, let me know, but you don't have to be an asshole about it either."

"God, Tony. Seriously? For fuck's sake, you're acting like a child."

Tony’s anger spiked without warning. "What the hell crawled up your ass and died?"

A muscle in Bruce's jaw twitched. "Sorry, that was a cheap, low shot... I'm sorry, I guess I'm on edge and not the best company right now, but I'll be better tomorrow. Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad," Tony mumbled. He wilted at the pleading tone in Bruce's voice and ran a hand through his hair. "Bruce...you should take a break. Come out and grab a bite with me, then you can go right back to all--whatever this is.”

Bruce’s expression sobered. "I'm still full from the buffet, Tones. You know how much they served? I overdid it."

No, Tony didn’t like it, but he was too tired to press him, and their tiny spat did him no favors. "Only if you're sure--"

"I am. I'll see you tomorrow, though. Oh." Bruce paused. Tony had been making his way to the door, but Bruce’s hesitation froze his step. "It's going to be a rough few days, what with the reports, and such.”

Tony gave him a blank look.

“ _Tony_. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Dammit. The quarter end reviews,” he groaned, slapping his forehead. “Pepper sent me an email...but, yeah, okay. Maybe I forgot on purpose,” he admitted. “Of course I did. Who’d wanna watch a full two weeks of dull slides, from department heads makin' excuses about why they're behind on projects they _should’ve_ completed, _months_ ago.”

He gestured lazily at Bruce. “No offense.”

Bruce shrugged. “None taken. Besides, I understand your concerns, even if we can't all be at your level of 'brilliance.' "

Tony snorted. "I guess I deserved that sarcastic dig."

Bruce shot him a crooked grin that quickly dissipated. "My team has some good ideas, but we'll have to ramp it up if we're going to get these reports done on time. I might be...a little scarce for a while, at least until we finish. But please don’t take it the wrong way, okay? You don’t need to worry about me.”

Tony's frown deepened. Bruce’s words weren’t wrong, per se, but he couldn't help but feel like something was really…off. As if the words were right, but spoken by someone pretending to be Bruce. A Bruce-shell.

His lips twitched at the Men in Black reference. If Bruce suddenly turned into a giant cockroach--

Tony nearly face-palmed. Yeah, he was tired. He could do with the extra rest. Or the extra time to go over the presentation data.

"All right, fine," he grumbled. He only half-pretended to mope. "But don't take too long. I hear the boss doesn't like being left alone."

Bruce huffed softly. "Not a chance."

"Night, Banner."

"Good night, Tony."

But Tony couldn't quell his own unease. Still, he trusted Bruce. If there really was anything wrong, he'd say so.


	2. Eggshells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Additional warning** : There is a scene in this chapter that could be considered borderline non-con. It is not graphic, but it could be triggering for some. I chose not to put it in the tags because the scene deals more with a skewed body image than with sexual activity (although sometimes the two do coincide).
> 
> In any case, please read with caution - especially if any of these things could be triggering for you.

Four days after the conference, the painful, sharp gnawing of an empty belly subsided, and Bruce could ignore his other hunger pangs - the aftershocks - with ease. It also meant, however, that Hulk was closer to the surface than ever, and he had to be mindful of his temper. Because he was a hairsbreadth away from losing his shit. 

It wasn’t an unusual feeling. He’d gone without before, especially when he was on the run, but he hadn’t needed to fight so fiercely for control in a long time. He would need to rest more often and keep his mind occupied. 

Lying to Tony became easier, too. He didn't like it, but he didn't outright lie, not exactly, because there was always some sliver of truth in his words. The key was putting Tony off as much as possible, to make him assume things were crazier in the lab than they actually were (people missed the fact that he could create just as much chaos as the Other Guy, or more). Bruce frustrated his department with arduous tasks and impossible goals so he would be “too busy” to meet with Tony. His division ended up hating him at the end of the days, but he didn't care. He told them he was pushing them because he knew they were capable of it, but his ears did catch a few curses thrown his way. To be honest, he lost his own temper a few times but he didn’t lost _control_ , and he was rather proud of himself for that.

On the other hand, the more he put him off, the more suspicious Tony became. Both his trigger-temper and avoidance issues set a bad precedent, and Bruce knew he couldn’t ignore him for much longer. 

Bruce sighed. According to the clock in the lab it was almost 9pm, so Tony would be down soon. 

And soon he would have to let Tony... _touch_ him.

He imagined Tony pawing the flab bubbling over his sides, or sinking his hands into his soft, gelatinous paunch, and it sickened him. Tony couldn't possibly like him - there was far too _much_ of him. Probably appealing to his ego, because the scale in his apartment showed he broke 93 kilograms - over 200 pounds - and he had never been that heavy in his entire adult life. Selvig had been right to notice. Crazy Selvig...who knew the older astrophysicist would open his eyes to the truth?

"Bruce, you still down here?"

Swallowing, Bruce swiped the screen. He hadn't done any actual _work_ work in days, as he'd been immersed in calculating his quickest weight loss route, based on his current physiology. And for four days straight he had been weighing himself every three hours, like clockwork, for accuracy. 

"Yeah, I'm still down here." He chuckled darkly. "Sorry, I must've lost track of time again."

"Mmhm. _Right_.”

He swallowed again. Bruce knew Tony’s clipped tones were masking a powerful rage, but what could he do, really? It wasn’t like the truth would make Tony feel any better. Bruce took his time folding his glasses and putting them in his front shirt pocket, affecting an air of calm he did not feel.

"So?" He turned, steeling his expression. "What's up?"

Tony's eyes were hard and cold - brittle even - but he held back, and Bruce’s heart sank a little. If only Tony would get angry. Then he’d have a reason to shout and shove him away. Instead, Bruce firmly planted his feet, hoping Tony didn't notice how white his knuckles were as he gripped the sides of the table.

"I'm going to come right to it," Tony said quietly. Tony squared off in Bruce’s personal space, as if facing a tough business rival. "And I really want an honest answer from you, okay? Don't bullshit me."

Bruce _tsked_ , and looked down. "Tony--"

Tony held up a hand. "No, goddammit, I'm serious. Are you avoiding me for some reason? Did I say something to upset you, or...?"

Bruce’s shoulders crumpled, and he shook his head. "No! No, absolutely not. It's nothing you've done at all. Honestly, Tony." He briefly glanced into Tony’s eyes, and blanched at pain he saw in them.

He sighed, trying again. "No, Tony. I-it's me." He could let go of that tiny sliver of truth, the only truth he would admit. "The conference reminded me of how...inadequate I am, I suppose. How behind the times. Even with my so-called ‘genius’ and being able to keep ahead of my peers, I've suddenly missed years of research. I...It's hard to come to terms with it.

“I'm not the smartest kid on the block anymore.” He smirked and drew out the lie.

"So that's why you're..." Tony shuddered through a sigh, and Bruce watched how well the lie worked. His stomach twisted a little; he wished it weren't so easy.

"Fuck, Bruce. I thought you wanted to break up."

Genuinely shocked, Bruce’s head whipped up. "What? No! Not at all--no. God, Tony. I...I want to be with you. I should probably make it up to you, really. I've been incredibly selfish lately."

Tony chewed his lip and softly cupped Bruce's cheek. "I miss you."

Bruce leaned into him, feeling alternately elated and sick to his stomach. "Yeah, me too,” he murmured. He swallowed back his bile. “Let's...do you want to go upstairs?"

"My place?"

"Sure."

Tony started up and Bruce followed quietly behind. Tony kept stealing glances at him, as if not totally reassured; he wasn’t stupid, Bruce knew that. But perhaps being with him tonight would help allay any lingering fears.

***

Tony took a pillow from behind his head and stroked it absently. His expression chilled and he took one careful glance at Bruce’s sleeping form before glaring at the ceiling.

_He's lying to me._

The more Tony muddled through the terrible revelation, the tighter his grip across the pillow became, until his fingers ached through the puckered seams. 

Maybe there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do at this point. Tony’s eyes lingered over his partner, watching how his lips parted in sleep and hair stuck in wild directions from fitful tossing. Yes, they’d had sex, but they should’ve talked instead. It was _really_ bad, because Tony could tell Bruce went through the motions for his sake, even when Tony told him they didn’t have to do anything. It was wrong, so very, very wrong; Bruce kept jerking awkwardly away whenever Tony went to grab him, as if he were ticklish. Except Tony knew where Bruce was ticklish, and it wasn’t anywhere near where he’d touched him.

Tony’s frown deepened as Bruce snorted softly in his sleep. He should’ve stopped them. He instinctively felt it was inappropriate, and he should’ve stopped it and _made_ him talk…

Biting back a curse, Tony rolled from the bed. No way - there was no way in hell he’d sleep the rest of the night, but he knew he had to find some kind of closure before Bruce woke up. Tony quietly padded from the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. "J," he murmured. "What's Bruce been working on the past week?"

Jarvis paused, and Tony's scowl deepened. A pause from Jarvis could only mean one thing --

"I do apologize, Sir. Dr. Banner has put up highest accessible protocols and privacy settings on his lab computer. I could override them, of course, but I would also have to alert Dr. Banner to this, as per standard Stark Industries HR operating procedures."

 _Okay, Bruce,_ Tony thought darkly. _Two can play this game._

"J. What's the current ongoing project for Section C?"

"Retrofitting arc reactor technology for deep space exploration, Sir."

"And when is their quarter end task report due to the CEO?"

"In eight business days, Sir."

"And..." Tony went to the refrigerator and poured a glass of orange juice. "According to progress reports, which should be logged every day by every department within Stark Industries, has the Section C supervisor been working on said project, or has he been working on a totally different side project?"

"A different side project, Sir."

"Of course he is." Tony clamped his jaw until his teeth ached, and then took a small sip of the juice. He wanted something much stronger in it. "Thanks, J."

"It's my honor to serve you, Sir."

Tony meandered to his living room, and stared at his TV without turning it on. He was almost certain Bruce was obsessing over his stats; he could tell that much by the times he caught Bruce staring at his DNA helix. Tony knew Bruce's helix on sight by now. Plus, it wasn't like Bruce would be pulling up anyone else's data panel.

"J," Tony said, very quietly. He walked over to his bar, poured a jigger of vodka into his glass, and took slow, careful sips. "Put a temporary hold on Dr. Banner's health records. If anyone tries accessing it, including Dr. Banner himself, let me know as soon as possible."

"Of course, Sir."


	3. Icarus

There were a couple of things Bruce could do in his sleep. Physics, for one. Math, sure - it came with the physics territory. And he was a decent chemist and fair biologist, due to all the researching and experimenting involved with his...rage condition. But with all his science abilities, he couldn't call himself a "hacker" by any stretch. Computers were machines that did what you told them to, nothing more, nothing less...or at least that was how he felt about them at this moment, as his voice turned dangerously guttural. 

"Jarvis," he spat between clenched teeth. "Do what I requested."

The second pause became longer than the first, and Bruce's hands closed into trembling fists. "Unfortunately, Doctor Banner, I'm unable--"

"Goddammit! I don't care if you're 'able' or not. It's _my_ information, so fucking _unlock_ it!" 

"Your request," Jarvis responded to him in clipped, short tones, as if the AI were angry - as if Jarvis could become angry - "has been denied. I am sorry, Dr. Banner."

Jarvis wasn't sorry, any more than he was angry. He couldn't be, that...that _machine_ had no way of doing anything, except what Tony asked of it. Bruce's shaking was uncontrollable, so he absently rubbed his forearms and paced his bathroom. At least he was alone and not in a position to hurt anyone, but his rage was slipping and he wanted to damage something.

He wanted to rip out his bathroom sink.

Smash the mirror into shards and watch his blood paint the walls.

Kick out the toilet with his foot and send it crashing through a wall.

But none of those things were happening, not nearly as badly as he wanted them to, and it infuriated him.

He wasn't _changing_. 

Holy fuck, he wanted to raze the place and bring it down around his ears in an expression of emerald rage, but Hulk was...strangely quiet; in every attempt to call him forth, he wasn't budging. As if he knew this was neither the time nor the place nor the circumstance. Adding insult to injury, Bruce's heart wasn't beating quickly enough. It should have been, but he honestly didn't have the energy for more than a small tantrum.

Bruce angrily carded his fingers through his hair, and mercilessly tugged at his curls. Tony blocked him, fine. He could deal with that. Tony…didn't understand, would never understand, that all this was necessary.

He could hide from Tony. Bruce’s gut twisted at the thought of adding to the lies, but he pushed the feelings aside. He'd just have to use other means.

Spreading his arms across the expanse of his marble countertop, Bruce slowly, systematically counted in his head until he could turn the trembling in his body into brief finger tics. "Fine," he murmured, but only when he felt 100% in control. "Fine."

Bruce side-eyed his countenance in the bathroom mirror and turned in disgust, appalled at how scary and sick he appeared, with his wild curls plastered to his brow. _Price of the ferryman,_ he thought coldly.

"Jarvis." He started again. Slower. "I need a body composition scale that measures bone density, water, weight and body fat. It needs to be accurate, and it needs to be the best on the market. Throw in a tape measure and a Lange skinfold caliper while you're at it. Please send it to my apartment as soon as possible. Within the hour, if able."

"Very good, sir. Will you need anything else?"

"Privacy," Bruce spat to himself. "A little fucking privacy."

"Sir?"

"Jarvis, just...never mind." He rubbed his left bicep, stilling the flare of rage that tipped to depression just as quickly. He understood now why Tony had "gone to a meeting" that morning and wasn't around when he woke up. Bruce didn't feel like talking to him for a while either, not after pulling that health data stunt. Better for both of them.

Bruce was frustrated, though, at how horribly ashamed he felt, how merely thinking of what he was about to do made him want to vomit. Tony would hate him – maybe more than he hated himself right now. But it was better this way, he justified. Tony would appreciate him more, afterwards.

"Jarvis, can you send Tony a recording for me? Tell him thanks, but quit worrying. While you're at it, tell him I need time. Like, _do not talk to me_ time. I need..."

He sighed heavily and forced himself to investigate his reflection. His skin appeared sallow and translucent beneath the fluorescent lights while his sweat fell from his scalp and dripped in the sink. Blue veins pulsed near his temples, carrying a distinct green tinge beneath the glare. He didn’t like the rage he saw in his dark eyes because he knew it was his own, and not the Hulk's.

"Tell him I need space, Jarvis. Two weeks. I don't want to see him for two weeks."

"Sir is required to be at all department quarter-end reviews, Dr. Banner."

Bruce broke contact with the real monster in the mirror, and ground his teeth after spitting into the sink. "That's fine. But I don't need to talk to him, do I?"

"Only if he poses a direct question."

He chuckled coarsely, but his eyes never left the sink. "You can be so fucking literal sometimes, Jarvis."

Sighing, Bruce tilted his head and purposely softened his features, molding them into some casual resemblance of his “nerdy professor” countenance. The mask was unsettling and off, but it would do for now. It would do until he could return to his work routine. He would have to make excuses during the day to weigh himself, but people probably wouldn't even question it. Not when he'll have his team working overtime to make the best fucking presentation Stark's ever seen.

"Please send that message, Jarvis. Priority one, for his ears only."

He fumbled for his glasses, feeling his mask slip further into place. He was already an hour late; time to go to work. Bruce skimmed over the mirror and shot it a moody smirk. "Showtime," he growled to the parody staring back.

***

"Hey," Pepper chided. Tony blinked around the meeting room, taking a too-long beat to react to her shoulder bump. The meeting room was also a mini-projection room, where departments could give their presentations. But only Bruce had ready access to Jarvis, unlike most of the departments, so he could promise a 3-D display to end all displays. Despite what happened between them, Tony was looking forward to it.

What he _wasn't_ looking forward to was seeing Bruce for the first time in nine days.

"Tony, are you okay?"

"Hm?"

His eyes dropped to his phone, absently stroking its sides. He abided by Bruce's wishes, in addition to the cold delivery of his message. He had been expecting it, really - there was no way Bruce wouldn't be angry or upset, considering that he’d obliterated the man's right to his personal medical information. Tony briefly recanted and allowed Bruce to view his gamma data whenever he wanted, but he didn't tell him. It was there if Bruce wanted it, but Bruce hadn't accessed Jarvis in a week and a half. Except the day after he installed the information block.

"You seem distracted. I asked if you were--" Pepper suddenly thinned her lips, and even in his mindset he knew Pepper never stopped in the middle of a sentence. Ever. She leaned in closer, sniffing, and he shrank back while giving her a cold little stare

"Pepper. What the hell--"

"Have you...? Tony, are you drunk right now?"

He rolled his eyes at her and went back to his phone. "No, I am _not_ drunk," He grumbled, forwarding a few things to Jarvis. "I was drunk last night. This is leftovers."

"But you're still drunk from the night before." She sputtered it as a statement rather than a question. "Tony. _Honestly._ "

"Pepper, don't." He sighed and wiped a hand across his forehead, hating that she was a little right. He was stupid last night. Had been stupid a few nights, actually, but it was just catching up with him. "I'm sober...ish and currently not in the mood for your high horse antics."

"Sober-ish," she repeated slowly. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he said, holding up a finger. "You already asked that question in some form or another."

"Right, and I never got a straight answer from you. It's nine o'clock in the morning, and you're plastered--" she noted that some of the board members turned their heads and she lowered her voice "--you're plastered to the gills. I thought you were done with that high school bullshit."

Tony held up another warning finger. "First, I am not 'plastered.' Tipsy might be a fair assessment, but not plastered."

She let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Second," he said over her sigh, "You're right, and I'm sorry. Things are getting...complicated and I'm not handling it well."

Her brow crinkled, but he could tell some of the anger had bled out. A growing concern took over instead, and truthfully Tony wasn’t sure which was worse.

"Between you and..."

"Bruce," Tony affirmed. His grip tightened on his phone, and he stared forward, expression blank. "Yeah. He's pulling away from me." Tony swallowed, and he let the silence linger before returning to his phone. "He's been dealing with some shit, like we all do, but something must have happened because he's freezing me out and it's been ten days. He's running without physically going anywhere. And I don't know what I'm doing wr--"

His eyes darted to Pepper's hands. She had folded one hand over his own in the middle of his ramble, and he just now noticed. "We might not be together anymore," she murmured. "But I do care. About both of you. You're both geniuses, you'll figure it out, but this," she said, slowly shaking her head. "This isn't the way to handle it, Tony. Same as it wasn't after Afghanistan."

Tony placed his free hand on hers. "I know," he said, squeezing gently. "Felt stuck, I guess. I suck at choosing healthy coping mechanisms, Pep." His ears caught a commotion in the hallway, but there was always a random commotion in some hallway, every day. He'd be worried if there wasn't at least one major alarm or a fucking emergency evacuation each day. Hell, yesterday someone nearly went into anaphylaxis due to an undiagnosed allergy to an unknown substance. Something from _space._ And that was on a good day. When Pepper turned to look he briefly craned his neck, expecting more of the same. 

***

He told himself it was nerves, just nerves, as he splashed his face for the third time. Water dripped from his hair and into the gleaming, slick-silver basin while he clutched the marble countertop, knowing he couldn’t stand erect. Not yet. Getting out of bed had nearly been impossible, but he forced himself to get into his clothes. Jarvis could tell he wasn’t at his optimum best - but he told the AI to fuck the hell off. He was fine.

Absolutely fine.

Bruce cried out as his stomach cramped and seized. He could feel himself trying to wretch but he had nothing but froth and bile left. He thought he heard someone knock; his hands were shaking and he could feel his vision tunneling.

No. He could fight this. Had to fight it--

_Concentrate,_ he told himself. He straightened a little more and ignored the sickly pallor of his palsied hands. _You have a presentation. You’ve done dozens of presentations while ill, even while fighting the Other Guy... you just have to_ walk, _goddamn it!_

He cradled his head in his hands, fighting the wave of vertigo keeping him from standing erect.

“Doctor Banner, I must insist -”

“Dammit, Jarvis, what did I say?” His voice was supposed to be sharp and loud. But it was weak as a kitten’s mew. How the hell could he present? He had to. He could do this. He had to. He _would._ “Leave me alone, Jarvis.”

Bruce fought the illness and stumbled towards the bathroom door. Thank God no one had come in. He should’ve locked it. Dammit, he wasn’t thinking clearly--

_Shake it off. Shake it off..._

“Doctor Banner--?”

He squinted at someone. Jacobsen? Looked a little like Jacobsen. He felt lightheaded, suddenly. A little wobbly. He opened his mouth to ask Jacobsen if he’d cued up the screens, and if everyone from C had made it. But his tongue felt thick and sticky in his mouth. His vision slowly dimmed, as if he were in a theater. And then he took one, two steps before pitching forward and stumbling into the darkness.

He heard...what did he hear?

_C’mon, don’t do this._

Tony, maybe. He tried opening his eyes but they felt taped shut. Everything in him felt slow and lumbering and yet light and weightless. As if he weren’t there. As if he were never there. 

_Stay with me, babe._

But he couldn’t, he really couldn’t. He wanted to tell Tony it was too much, that he couldn’t do this. To forgive him. That he loved him. But he couldn’t fight from where he was, and he liked this gentle, lulling vacuum surrounding his body.

_Slowly roll him onto your lap and cradle his shoulders._

Natasha--? Was that Natasha? Maybe Pepper. He didn’t know anymore, felt himself caring less.

_Lift on my count. We can get him to a quieter place until the ambulance arrives._

Ambulance? Doctors? No. No no no nonono--

_Fuck, he’s changing!_

_I need to check his vitals - **Bruce!** If you can hear me, stop struggling--!_

_Bruce, you’ve gotta control yourself, man..._

_Tony, get **bac**_ \--

***

...beeping. Too much beeping. Hurt.

“...vy duty tranqs. You look like shit, Stark. Go get some sleep."

“If I'm not here, he's gonna wake up and lose it, Romanoff. You want that on your conscience?”

“Tony...”

"No. Not an option."

He tried opening his eyes, but the brightness stung so he kept them shut. Although his breathing leveled, he could still hear them arguing; he could tell them not to bother, but his throat felt like sandpaper. He could talk later. He felt heavy; he needed to sleep.


	4. Cerate

Tony unsteadily paced the corridor of the gray and black hospital wing, and tried not to fucking _think._ He looked up once, noting the thick partition made from a plexiglas hybrid, which separated him from Bruce. The doctors thought the reinforcements were “best” after Bruce had an episode in his sleep, and flung an intern across the far wall, but what did they know? They were assholes. Fuck ‘em. He hated it. It reminded him of a prison, as if they were waiting for Bruce, or Loki, or Thor, or any other mega-powered super giant to need medical attention - or worse, he thought, swallowing. But Bruce had _already_ gone through worse, so Tony planned to have a little "chat" with SHIELD medical as soon as they got through this thing.

"Tony." Natasha sighed when he didn't look up. "You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t slow down.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Jesus, you’re so...” She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “I get it, Tony. I do."

"Oh?" Tony whirled and resumed pacing. "You a mind reader now?"

"You don't want him waking up alone," she said, ignoring his baited question. "You don't want him to think you abandoned him. You love him."

Tony missed his footing in mid-pace. He considered sucking from the flask in his lapel pocket, but it wouldn't be a great idea, as much as he wanted to. Besides, it was probably empty by now.

"You don't know that," he told her. "Besides, he's not there yet. Not even close. Neither of us are."

When she didn't answer, Tony hazarded a look in her direction; she offered a small shrug in return. "Maybe not. But you being here says enough." She rolled her sore shoulder and sat back against the wall. She had to be aching; Bruce slammed her against the wall, but good.

"You can talk to me about it, if you want. It won't leave this hospital."

He pinned her with a glare. "Even if Fury asks?"

She smirked a little. "Oh, he probably already knows, Tony, if this medical facility is any indication." Natasha paused, waiting for his glare to return to his feet. "I meant from the team, from the rest of the Avengers. From Steve, or Clint. Or Thor, if he ever comes back."

Tony collapsed against a wall and pulled a face while glancing at his Italian loafers. He created more scuff marks across them by kicking imaginary pebbles. "How much do you know?"

"I know Bruce has an eating disorder," Natasha told him, and Tony’s head snapped up like a taut rubber band. "Don't be so shocked," she murmured. "It's obvious, if you know the signs. It looks like you helped him through a lot of it, but he had a setback, didn't he?"

Tony swallowed and returned his gaze to the floor. His eyes followed a skittering insect, and he debated between squashing it or leaving it alone. "Almost a couple weeks back," he mumbled. "At the conference, maybe. Something must’ve triggered him, but I thought he was okay. I thought we were."

His hand fumbled for his flask, and he gritted his teeth upon finding it empty. "I'm not a psychologist, Natasha. I'm as fucked up as Bruce in some ways, and I know it. But I'm not the issue here. He is. And I want him to get better."

"But you don't know how," she finished.

Tony slowly nodded.

"There are therapists, you know. Doctors who specialize in--"

Tony's sharp bark surprised them both. "Banner. With a head shrink. How do you suppose that'll play out?"

Natasha smiled softly. "Fair point." She cocked her head at him. "There...might be other ways, though. Ways that could work, but..."

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish. "But?" He prompted.

Natasha's glare didn't waver. "Bruce is a control freak. You and I both know that. He feels he has to be in control, all the time, every second of every day. I don't think he _wants_ to be in control, Tony, but he doesn't see a choice. But you could give him that choice."

"Explain," Tony snapped. He didn't mean to be harsh, but he wasn't in the mood for double speak, especially if an answer was poised on the tip of Natasha's tongue.

"Bondage," she said, not caring how loud the word pinged off the metal walls. Tony winced. "BDSM can be a form of giving up control, in the right circumstance."

Tony made a face and stopped short of rolling his eyes. "Whips and chains? All that leather nonsense with a man like Bruce? Are you shitting me?"

Natasha's lip curved into a small smile. "It doesn't have to be painful, Tony. It doesn't have to be leather. It can be silk. It can be soft. It can be a way for someone to give up control in a healthy environment and to trust their partner in ways...” She trailed, and Tony marveled at her smile. She was goddamn glowing.

“Well. Ways they've never known."

He observed her carefully. "You and Clint," he murmured. "You love each other enough to do that shit to each other?

Natasha snorted. "Love is for children, Tony. If you ask me, BDSM has its purposes, but you don't have to be in love with your partner for it to work. You just have to trust them enough."

Trust...love--Tony didn't even want to wrap his head around what Natasha was telling him or what new definitions of love and trust she meant. He looked back into Bruce's room. Still. Natasha planted a seed, and whatever happened next would have to be Bruce's move.

His gaze lingered over at Bruce’s room, his _cage_. Oval-shaped, translucent from all sides, with a thin curtain that gave the tiniest modicum of privacy - some comfort, he supposed. But Tony had no illusions about the thickness of the glass (or Plexiglas hybrid, or what have you). Same material from the helicarrier, just...different packaging. A pang of guilt washed over him; he imagined that his very own designs created it.

Tony thumbed his flask. Maybe he and Bruce both sat in gilded cages, in one way, or another.

***

Bruce woke with his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, feeling as if he'd been gored by an elephant. And then got stomped flat by the very same animal. His world swam a little. As he lifted a hand to rub his forehead, he noticed...tubes. Tubes in his _arm_ \--

"Holy hell," he heard. "Glad I got the restraints off in time--hey, hey, calm your jets," Tony said, suddenly there, suddenly hovering over his bed. "Don't rip out the IV yet. You might need a refill on the good stuff."

"Jesus," Bruce croaked. He winced as he tried swallowing what felt like gallons of lead.

"Here." Tony offered him a cup of ice chips, and Bruce took it gratefully.

He chewed a couple, allowing the brief droplets to soothe his aching throat. "Did I--"

"Sort of, at the beginning, but it was only an arm - go figure. You tried to, dozens of times. But you didn't have the power or energy or something. You were tapped out."

Bruce chuckled darkly. "Guess I finally found the cure for Hulk."

"No you _didn't,_ you sorry son of a bitch."

Bruce's lip turned, and he couldn't look at Tony directly. Tony's voice was quiet but brittle at the edges, like kindling ready to burst into flame. And any spark--

"You fucking bastard." Tony pulled up a chair, scraped it across the floor, and Bruce winced at both the chair and the sharpness in Tony's voice. "You know what the docs said? 'Severe' dehydration. Malnutrition. And a hell of a lot of things only an endocrinologist would understand."

Bruce hurt too much to turn his head, but Tony popped over him again, and grabbed his hand. Tony's eyes burned through him, searching his eyes for the answers. Bruce smelled stale bourbon but felt nothing. Nothing but emptiness. "I'm so fucking pissed at you right now," Tony murmured. His eyes darted across Bruce's face. He rubbed Bruce's knuckles back and forth, as if seeking reassurance, but Bruce still felt cold.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm glad you're okay and you're talking and I'm so fucking glad you're okay."

"You said that already," Bruce grunted, but there was no venom in his words. He was too tired.

"I did, I did," Tony muttered. "But if I weren't so scared for you right now, I would’ve...I would have punched you through a wall. I would've jumped into a suit and slammed some sense into you. Fuck, Bruce. You could've--."

"Died?" He snorted darkly, turning his head. "I don't have that kind of luck."

"No. Not died," Tony said, ignoring the ugliness in Bruce's tone. "Maybe worse. Something in between."

Bruce didn't think it was a good time to explain that he was already in between. Sighing deeply, he glanced at Tony, saying the only thing he thought needed to be said. "I'm sorry, Tony. I’m sorry I put you through hell."

"Fucking right you did. Bruce...Christ, man, you can't do this to yourself." Bruce tried moving away from Tony's glare, but there were only so many ways his head could move, and Tony's eyes followed every place he turned. Tony gripped his hand tightly, afraid to let go.

"Tony--"

"Don't 'Tony' me. Listen to me. Fucking _listen_ for once, goddammit." Bruce could feel Tony's hands shaking, and he caught another whiff of liquor on the other man's breath, though he didn't think Tony was drunk. No, he was far too lucid, if Bruce was any judge. "Answer me this one question, okay? Do you want to continue...us? I'm not asking what's good for me or what's good for you. I'm asking if you're selfish enough for _us._ "

It was enough to stop the hamster wheel of despair in Bruce’s head, enough to get him to think honestly about him. Them. He wanted to push Tony away, trying his damn level best to be the world's biggest asshole. Truthfully, though, he didn't have it in him. All he wanted was...

 _Fuck it._ Bruce briefly closed his eyes. He was done fighting and wanted someone to tell him he didn't have to anymore. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Tony let out a long sigh. "Thank God," he said, collapsing across the bed. Bruce snorted at his dramatics, and unconsciously smoothed a hand through Tony's hair. "You're a mean motherfucker," Tony groused into the blankets. "And I want to fucking kill you. But I can't."

"Yeah. I know."

"No. Not like that. You know I don't mean that."

"I know," he repeated. Bruce swallowed the sand in his throat, and shook his head. It was probably remnants of the drug fog, but he couldn't stop himself as the truth tumbled out. "I fucked up, Tony. I...I let it get away from me, and then I couldn't stop." He chewed his chapped lips. "I...I thought I could handle it."

“Until nature made the decision for you.”

“So it would seem.”

And he did, he honestly thought he could handle it. He'd starved himself, and lost 7.2 kilograms. But his pulse raced between thudding and crawling, he kept getting weird fevers, and he felt nauseated and starving throughout all of it. He knew he was sick physically, and mentally. But he persisted. Frightening himself. Wanting someone, anyone, to stop him, but he'd pushed them all away and tried “handling” it on his own...but obviously, it wasn’t handled. At all.

Tony looked up, and Bruce quit fingering his hair. The expression on his boyfriend’s face stabbed through his heart and paralyzed him, and he wasn't sure how to respond.

“The way I see it," Tony murmured, "you don't have too many options here. You wanna hear the truth, or you want me to lie to you?"

Bruce shut his eyes, feeling Tony shift on his bed - gurney, really; it wasn't much of a bed when it was on wheels. "I don’t want it, but I need to hear the truth."

Tony sat up, and waited for Bruce to meet his eyes. "They think you're a risk again. They want to put you in a hospital for a longer stay, under observation--"

Bruce grit his teeth, shaking his head. " _No._ No, dammit. No more fucking doctors."

Tony barreled on. "They want a full psych eval. The works. And they want to do a whole battery of tests, Bruce, invasive ones."

Bruce felt Hulk pushing, like an orca beneath an icefield. A combination of the drugs and the lack of sustenance in him prevented a full on transformation, but Tony was frowning. Something was green, apparently.

"Or," Tony said softly. That one word stilled him, brought his heart rate down enough to hear the rest. "You can be released into my custody. As a Stark Industries employee, we can make them respect your rights. They can't just take you; I'll fucking hog tie them in court before they can even blink. Not SHIELD, not the US military...no one can take you if you don't want to go."

Bruce sighed heavily. He rubbed his jaw, and scowled when the IV tube smacked his forehead. "Where _you_ can do tests on me, Tony? So you can send me to a psychiatrist who'll poke around in my head?"

Tony slowly shook his head. "No, Bruce. Like I said, you have a choice, okay? You can have as little - or as much - involvement as you want, and you can do your own goddamn tests. But if you say no to doctors or psychiatrists, then I'm asking you to put everything into my hands. I want to help, but you're gonna have to want the help. And it's either me, or strangers. Can't promise I'll be any kinder than the strangers, but I _will_ care about you."

Tony took his hand again, and Bruce rubbed Tony's knuckles absently. "I'm scared, Tony," Bruce said, swallowing. "Scared I can't handle it."

"So don’t," Tony told him quietly, but forcefully. "Let go. Let me do it for you."

\--

It took a while. Several weeks, actually, until Bruce was able to begin letting go. Once he’d been cleared on Stark Industries' dime, neither SHIELD nor the US government could touch him. They weren’t happy, but what could they do? They didn’t own Bruce. Bruce owned himself, for once in his damn life.

“Are you sure?” Bruce chewed his bottom lip, seeing the last remnant of self-abuse in Tony’s hands.

“I should be asking you that question,” Tony said, flipping the small scale in his hands. It wasn’t a very big one, but it was the most important one because it was the one from Tony’s bathroom.

“I mean, it’s up to you, Bruce. We can keep it in there, if you think--”

“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t want to see it. Not sure if I could see one, ever again, and not get triggered.”

Tony huffed softly and put a hand on his shoulder. “Nah, you will. Just not today. So let’s just take it one day at a time, okay?”

Bruce smirked at him. “You sound like a fucking AA advertisement.”

“Yeah, well...don’t get too cocky, Mean Green. That’s all I’m saying.”

Bruce thought about something else, but he didn’t push it. It wasn’t the time, anyway.

***

Another month went by before they began talking about what happened in earnest. Bruce didn't like it, but he knew he had to. Plus, they had other things to discuss.

"It's hard for me to be honest about it," he said quietly. Tony had just hand fed him honeydew wrapped in prosciutto after a filling dinner, and the refreshing flavors combined with the intimacy of the act gentled his mood. A log in the fireplace popped as a flame licked at it. It was almost too warm for a fire, but Bruce found it calmed him. He suddenly felt boneless and peaceful, like floating in the middle of an ocean.

"It's okay," Tony murmured. His head was in Tony's lap, and Tony brushed his curls from his eyes - his hair was getting long again; he should get it cut. "Say what you can."

Bruce chuckled darkly. "It still seems stupid, when I think about it. I mean, it's food right? It's just fucking _food_. People eat every day."

"Anything can get twisted, Bruce, including all the stuff we eat and drink."

Bruce reached up, and gently ran a knuckle across Tony's beard. "Speaking of. I don't like it when you drink too much, Tony. And I think you...sort of got back into the habit when I was sick."

Tony shifted uncomfortably and wet his lips, but Bruce didn’t speak, giving the other man time to wrestle his demons. "Yeah. I'm...sorry." Bruce waited until Tony looked down, but he noted some sadness in Tony's eyes. "I didn't handle it very well."

"To be fair, neither of us did."

Tony's look was far away. "I'm out of control, and you're too much in control. We sorta have opposite problems."

"Maybe," Bruce murmured. "Old habits die hard, and all."

"Mm."

Tony seemed to be thinking something over, but Bruce spoke first. "I..." He swallowed. "I hated hiding and lying to you, out of all of what I did. Can we make a promise, here and now, to be honest with each other? No matter how bad life gets?”

He nodded. “No lying.”

“Never again,” Bruce murmured, and he shuddered a little, recalling the past few months. “Not your drinking, not my…eating habits.”

“In all our fucked-up glory, huh?”

“Something like that.” Tony bent down to kiss him, and Bruce raised his head, wishing they could stay like they were, right now, even though he knew life didn’t work like that.

When they finally broke, Tony cocked his head at him. His eyes were more intense than usual, which either meant he had a really good idea, or a really bad one. "Natasha wants me to help out with something next month."

"Oh?" Bruce twisted around to get a better look at his face. "Avengers related?"

Tony nodded. "It shouldn't be too bad, and I think the two of us can handle it. Some science dude in Dagestan needs an exit." Tony shrugged. "Three days, tops. But if I'm gonna be gone, will you be...okay?"

Bruce had to laugh, a little. "I'm not glass, Tony. I won't break." Tony stared at him a little harder. “I’m not lying, I mean it. I think…” He sighed softly. “I don’t think I’ll freak out. Not like before. I mean I can’t promise it, but…”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed. Again, another strange look crossed his face, but Bruce attributed it to Tony’s uncertainty. “You sure?”

“Positive,” Bruce said. He meant it, but he knew somehow he’d have to work on regaining Tony’s trust. Maybe he could work on one of their back burner ideas while he was gone, maybe find an answer for him. It would be the best kind of gift, a “thank you” that wouldn’t seem forced. Or cloying. “Besides. What could go wrong in three days?”

Tony rolled his eyes at him, but Bruce had already begun chuckling. So maybe they weren’t perfect, maybe they never would be. But Bruce was content because even at his worst, Tony had been there and hadn’t run off. So maybe, just maybe, they’d survive. And if very lucky, thrive.

**Author's Note:**

> People have been asking for the chronology for the entire series so, if you'd like to read the story in chronological order (but not posting order), read as follows:
> 
> 1\. The Bigger Man (Overture) (First/Part One)  
> 2\. Friction (Part Six)  
> 3\. Inertia (Part Three)  
> 4\. Equilibrium (Part Four)  
> 5\. Circumference (Part Five)  
> 6\. Measurement Theory (Part Two)  
> 7\. Momentum (Coming Soon - Part Seven)


End file.
